Actually, my very next book, or
perhaps I should say "our" next book because it's all Jenno's words, with
my drawings, is called "Jenno's Face Book". But as it's no
more than a small collection of her web posts, to be published free on
Smashwords before Christmas, it hardly counts as a proper book. On the other
hand, I do have a new novel in mind, and the provisional title is "Gang
America".

2) Where did the idea
come from for the book?

This is to be the seventh novel in the
"Gang" series. The series tell of the difficulties faced by an young
lad bombed out from a London orphanage in 1940, in adapting to life
in the English village
of Widdlington. The
children who live there divide the village into several gang territories which the
orphan must navigate at his peril. The ongoing tale in the six novels has
almost arrived at the point where the United States of America enters the war
as a combatant in 1942. The arrival of the Americans brought many changes to Britain, not
least to Widdlington, close to the site of a brand new American airfield.

3) What genre does
your book fall under?

This question always gives me much difficulty.
The novel will be fiction but, like the others in the series, it will be set in
the historical context of the Second World War. My intention is to reflect in
miniature, the issues and values at stake in this conflict. Although the
narrator in the series is a child, and the principal actors are children, I do
not write specifically for children. Even so, I believe children could follow
the narrative with pleasure. Let us say
then that the genre is historical fiction with a certain biographical element, and
that it is intended for readers from nine to ninety-nine.

4) What actors would
you choose to play the part of your characters in a movie rendition?

I find myself incapable of answering
this question as I rarely go to the cinema, and seldom watch a film on
television. A number of my readers have suggested that the "Gang"
series would be well suited for the cinema, perhaps along the lines of the
hilarious "Our Gang" or "Hal Roach's Little Rascals", black
and white films. The novels lend themselves readily to this idea because the
story is told mainly through dialogue. Someone once said to me that they could
see Judi Dench playing the villainous part of "Aunt". Beyond that I
feel unable to go except to say that casting so many young characters (there
are about 25 of them, never mind the numerous adults) might pose some problems.

5) What is the one-sentence
synopsis of the new book you have in mind?

The consequences of the 1942 American
invasion of Britain
on social relationships in a English village seen from the viewpoint of the
children.

6) Will your book be
self-published or represented by an agency?

Self published, including many illustrations.

7) How long does it
take you to write the first draft of a manuscript?

It usually takes seven or eight weeks for
me to write a first draft. This does not include preparing the plot and chapter
outline, similar to a film story board, which might take a couple of weeks ahead
of the first word of the draft. As for editing, that takes far more time than preparing
and writing the text. In fact, as it is so easy to amend electronic books, editing
can become a never-ending activity.

8) To what other books would you
compare the stories within your genre?

I find any comparison with other books
embarrassingly difficult, and prefer not to make such comparisons myself.
However, in reply to your question, I can say that the "Gang" series
has been compared by others with Robert Westall's "The Machine Gunners"
and even Harper Lee's "To Kill a Mocking Bird".

9) Who or what
inspired you to write this book?

The
"Gang" series grew out of an intention to create an anthology of
short stories about life in an English village under the stress of World War
II, but the initial short story got longer and longer until it finally turned
into a full-length novel. The series was inspired, at least in part, by a wish
to "get even", as it were, with a strict, pious aunt who in the
finish became the principal "villain" of the series.

10) What else about the book might pique the reader's
interest?

It
was with some misgiving that I began to use dialect for the speech of some of
the characters in the "Gang" series. I tried out the idea by reading an
extract to the local writers' group. They loved it, and so it became a feature.
The principal dialect speaker is Jenno Bryce, who is becoming quite well known
on the web. None of her Facebook friends seem to have problems with her way of
speaking, or with the way she writes in her little publications. And with the mention of Jenno's booklets, I am brought back
full circle to the beginning of this blog.

Next Week's Tagged Authors

Now
I'd like to "tag" the authors who are to carry the torch of this blog hop into
next week. They are:

Any'ow,
if any of yew wot reads this would loike ter know more about Peter St John's
"Gang" books, yew c'd take a look at http://www.peterstjohn.net/. But only
if'n yew really want to, that is. There's even a couple o' pictures there o'
me, but yew gotta search fer 'em…

The
autumnal season baffles me. I revel in the red, russet and golden glory of the
landscape. I squint cheerfully at the shafts of dazzling sunlight, and am
gleefully surprised by the short startling showers of rain.

But
- the heavy rainfall comes not as a happy surprise, nor the frosty cold and wet;
ominous threat of a gliding, sliding pathway that could appear overnight,
enhanced by autumnal snowfall. And then the wild wind, making stage appearance
with full force.

Is
this autumn or winter?

I
like to believe in an autumn that heralds winter, the season when gold turns to
grey, and light to darkness with smooth and gentle movement, rather than the
harsh twist from soft obscurity into total gloom.

Today
I dress in sandwich apparel, to insulate my body and add to my weight. I am no
match for the wind. My cap flies off and I am jolted into accelerated mobility
in a dervish dance. One glove, pulled over frozen fingers, falls to the ground.
I remove the second to pick up the first, and sob at the sight of the two on
icy earth. Fingers hurt with cold, even as I slip on wet gloves with polar
hands and jam my cap on a now wintry head.

I
continue on my autumn jaunt, and stop short to pay respect to a mass of
orange-bordered crimson cabbages alongside tangerine and frenetic fuchsia
chrysanthemums tended resolutely by someone making the most of the fleeting
season. Here Autumn plays herald in tangible tone. Even as I squash tarnished
leaves under my feet and raise my head to commiserate with trees in a state of
undress, the riot of resilient colour brightens my path."

Saturday, 17 November 2012

Moi village o' Widdlin'ton ain't an important
place, 'cept fer them wot live there, o' 'corse, wot don't mean that there
ain't no visitors from toime ter toime. Any'ow, a real noice lady from Pennsylvania (wot's in the United
States o' America)
come by recently, an' she were kind enough ter write a piece about it, an’ even
if’n she din't say nuffink about me, she did say somefink about a
"Boy". Well, it jus' so 'appens that that "Boy" lives in
the back o' moi place, be'ind moi chicken run, an' cripes, Oi know all about the
trouble 'ee 'as wiv gangs, an' wiv 'is aunt an' all. This American lady's name
is Katherine Ashe, an' she writes super novels about English 'istory, so she
really knows wot she's talkin' about. Any'ow, this is wot she wrote about the
"GangTerritory" in Widdlin'ton:

"World War II and the bombing of London
brought about the displacement of multitudes of children. We see photos of
them, wan, frightened as they’re herded onto trains bound for the safer
countryside or they’re led away by the firm grip of strangers’ hands. But what
happened to them after that, when they arrived at their unfamiliar
destinations?

Peter St. John’s autobiographically inspired story
of a boy from a destroyed London orphanage gives us an insight. An insight not
only into the new hazards such children faced, but into the noble code of
boyhood, a code that forbade complaining when one was abused and that produced
a degree of self-reliance that would serve well in later years – provided the noble
spirited little lad survived.

As in a medieval romance, the hero’s name is never
revealed to the reader. We will call him Boy. Boy arrives in the rural village
of Widdlington which is scant of indoor plumbing but rich in gangs of children.
Every street has its own gang who guard their territory from intruders. And an
intruder is any other child who does not live on that street. This of course
makes life exceedingly difficult for Boy, whose aunt and guardian seems
oblivious to the juvenile culture surrounding her, for she makes a habit of
sending him on errands where his very life depends upon his ingenuity in
getting to his goal and back home again unobserved.

There may be individuals as completely lacking in
humane feeling as this aunt, so completely focused on a sense of being put
upon, so resentful of a young boy, and so determined to gain every instant of
advantage from the unwanted presence of a child, as to resemble a slave driver
with a savage tongue in place of whip. When the aunt seems to relent at sight
of the boy’s injuries one senses that self-protection, not pity, is her
foremost, driving motive: fear of being discovered as the abuser she is. Why is
she so cramped and mean of spirit? Seen from the viewpoint of Boy, we never
learn.

But if the aunt makes his new home hellish, the
principal local bully, known as Slug, turns the entire outside world into a
trial of strategy for Boy as he must navigate from place to place nearly always
under the threat of severe bodily harm if he loses his focus of attention for a
moment. St. John sets up hazards and triumphs that make the plot predictable
but that also create suspense – and a certain admiration in the reader as we
know what must be coming but well drawn intervening events keep forestalling
the inevitable.

Widdlington is peopled with kindly folk as well as
brutes: from teachers to parents to children – mostly girls – and the local
derelict known as Dummy. Many speak in dialect although, thank heaven, Boy does
not. As yet another “Oi” for “I” is uttered, the words of Henry Higgins spring
to mind: “Why can’t the English teach their children how to speak?” Walter
Scott loved writing in dialects too, so St. John is in illustrious company.

The issue of bullying is as timely now as ever and
St. John’s exploration of the ways in which
children cope: isolatedly, determinedly, with fear and bravery, is as resonant
in GangTerritory as in Huckleberry Fin, and as
a salutary reminder of obtuse adult perceptions and the complexity of the world
of childhood."

Sunday, 4 November 2012

This
'ere's a poem wot was writ by Peter St John fer Poppy Day, November 11. It's
the day wot marked the endin' of the two World Wars. It's the day when we fink
real special about them wot died in these two wars, and we fink about the
reasons why they gave their lives: It were fer us, remember.

Monday, 29 October 2012

Yesterday, Peter St John 'ad some writer
friends over at 'is place ter talk about poetry an' lit'ry stuff loike that.
Peter showed 'em a poem wot 'ee wrote a little while ago, an' since it's that
toime o' year when we fink about armistice, an' our soldiers an' such, they
reckoned as 'ow it would be good ter share it wiv ovver people. So 'ere it is,
fer yew:

Tuesday, 23 October 2012

"Now it is the time of
night that the graves, all gaping wide, everyone lets forth his sprite, in the
churchway paths to glide."

Cripes, din't ol’ Shakespeare 'ave a fantastic
way wiv words? An' it's Halloween on October 31, wot is jus' the moment when
all them sprites, an' spirits, an' creepy-scary fings come a-glidin' around out
o' the churchyard. An' if'n yew don't treat 'em roight… well cripes, so much
the worse fer yew…!

There's some people in moi village o'
Widdlin'ton wot won't never go through the churchyard at night, never moind at
Halloween. But Peter won sixpence in a bet wiv Selena over that. Cripes, 'ee
nearly died o' fright a-doin' it. It were in a good cause though, 'cos 'ee
needed the money urgent loike ter go ter Lunnon.

Any'ow, all that's by the way, 'cos Oi wanted
ter tell yew about Halloween, wot's the evenin' afore All Saints' Day. In the
real old days, this were the eve o' the end of the year, an' they used ter
light big bonfires on top o' the 'ills ter scare away the evil spirits. An'
then the souls of all them wot were dead, c'd come back an' visit their 'omes.

Touble is, along wiv all them souls come a
whole lot o' ghosts an' witches, an goblins an' ghouls, an' scary spirits wot
are too 'orrible even ter mention. So most ev'rybody got around them big
bonfires so's they'd feel safe. It were noice an' warm too, wot don't come
amiss on top of an 'ill at this toime o' the year.

Any'ow, them wot couldn't go up the 'ill would
barricade themselves inside their 'ouses, wot didn't do much good, 'cos them
sprites wot c'd get out o' their graves, wouldn't 'ave no trouble at all comin'
down the chimney or through the key'ole, if'n yew see wot Oi mean. So if'n
somebody come a-knockin' on the door in the dark, yew couldn't never know
wevver it were a neighbour or a sprite. Cripes, it moight even be yer long dead,
great, great, great gran'muvver, an' yew wouldn't want ter turn 'er away, would
yew? So ter be on the safe side, if somebody come a-knockin', yew'd give 'em a
treat so's they wouldn't do yew no 'arm.

Well, kids ain't stupid, so they latched on
ter this, an' went around in disguise a-knockin' on people's doors fer
"trick or treat"; wot ain't such a bad idea when yew come ter fink of
it. An' not only that, they was safe from all them 'orrible sprites etc, 'cos
their disguises were so terrifyin' that they would scare the very Devil
'imself. See wot Oi mean…?

Love is all about carin', an' sharin', an' about
bein' there jus' a-grinnin' an' a-bearin'-up when fings don't go the way yew
fink they oughtter. It's about bein' able ter say wot yew really fink, quite
darin' like really, 'cos yew know that the person wot's listenin' won't get
shirty at yew. An' it's about calmin' fings down when somebody starts bangin'
around an' gettin' a bit 'ot under the collar. Cripes, love is getting out the
cups, an' brewin' some tea, when somebody's feelin' a bit down; an' Oi don't
mean when it's yew wot's down.

Love is when yew turn yerself inside-out an'
upside down ter get over a problem wot somebody's 'aving, when it ain't really
yer problem. 'Cos love c'n always make a way ter foind the best in any kinda
situation.

Love is finkin' of ovvers, when yew'd rather
fink of yerself. It's givin' out a smile, even when yew don't feel much loike
smilin'.

Love makes a diff'rence ter somebody's day,
if'n yew see wot Oi mean.

So 'ave yerself an 'appy day,

Wiv luv from Jenno

By the way, 'ave yew seen moi latest
collection of the stuff wot Oi put up on Facebook? If'n yew want, yew c'n 'ave
a look at it on http://www.smashwords.com/b/243552.
Yew c'n even download it fer free, or yew c'n read it online. That is, if'n yew
loike…

O' corse
she weren't called Pankhurst when she was born at Manchester in 1858, 'cos 'er
fam'ly name were Goulden. She become Mrs Pankhurst when she got married in 1879
ter Richard Marsden Pankhurst wot were a lawyer. 'Ee must've been a roight
sympathetic sort o' man, 'cos it were 'im wot wrote the the first woman
suffrage bill around 1865 (wot didn't 'ave much luck) an' later on, the Married
Women's Property acts, wot did.

Any'ow, around 1890, Emmeline set up the
Women's Franchise League (a bit loike wot Oi did wiv the "Go-Getter
Girls" in "Gang Loyalty", wot didn't 'ave a whole lot o' luck
neither) but Emmeline 'ad some luck 'cos er League got the roight fer women ter
vote in local elections, but not fer the House of Commons.

Oi reckon
'as 'ow this encouraged 'er ter go on wiv 'er idea, 'cos in 1903, she founded
the Women's Social and Political Union (WSPU) wot got inter trouble two years
later when a couple of its members got chucked outta a meetin' o' the Liberal
party (wot is more loike the Conservatives terday) fer demandin' a resolution
about votes fer women. Fings got worse outside, 'cos it seems they got arrested
fer assaultin' the police. When they refused ter pay fines, they was put inter
prison. This weren't good fer them, but it were real good fer WSPU publicity.

From then
on, Emmeline really got 'er dander up compaignin' agaist the Liberals 'cos 'er
followers started ter go out o' their way ter interrupt meetin's o' cabinet
ministers. Cripes, then Emmeline 'erself got arrested and jailed fer
distributin' a leaflet callin' on people ter "rush the House o'
Commons". Cripes, did that ever start a barney! It turned inter somefink
loike a war (wot we also 'ad in Widdlin'ton wiv our "Gang Warfare")
until she declared a "truce" wiv the introduction of a
"conciliation" bill on women's suffrage. But the truce didn't last
long 'cos the government blocked the bill. An' did that ever set fings off…!

The WSPU
become loike a nest o' wasps wot yew've poked wiv a stick (wot Oi don't
recommend yew do). The members started settin' fire ter fings, chainin'
themselves up an' doin' ovver such shockin' acts. Mrs Pankhurst got 'erself
sent ter prison again, where she refused ter eat. They would let 'er go out fer
a while, so as she could eat an build up 'er strength, but just as she were a
bit better, they arrested 'er again an' put 'er back in a cell. They did this
twelve times in a year. Cripes, can yew imagine…! Not only that, but ovvers of
'er followers got themselves jailed an' all.

Any'ow,
then come the First World War in 1914. So, wiv this foreign threat to the
nation, Emmeline called off the suffrage campaign, an' the government released
all the suffragette prisoners.

Durin'
the war, Mrs Pankhurst visited the United States of America, Canada, an'
Russiaencouragin' women ter stand up
fer their political roights. She went back to England in 1926 where she was
chosen ter be the Conservative candidate fer a constituency in the east of London,
but by this toime she were getting' on a bit in years an' 'er 'ealth weren't so
good. But cripes, at the finish she 'ad satisfaction fer all 'er determination
over the years. A few weeks before 'er death, the Representation of the People
Act 1928, wot gives equal votin' roights ter men an' women, was passed by
Parliament.

Although
Emmeline Pankhurst didn't never get elected ter Parliament, she very nearly got
in at the finish. There's a statue of 'er in Victoria Towers Gardens. Yew c'n
go an' see 'er if'n yew loike. She stands roight up against the railin's o' the
Houses o' Parliament. Yeah, real close. Oi still reckon 'as 'ow there ain't no
lady wot is more worthy o' fame than wot she is. There's lots of us ladies
around the world wot still ain't got the roight ter vote. So jus' fink o'
Emmeline Pankhurst all yew ladies wot do 'ave the roight, next toime yew go out
ter vote fer yer president or yer parliamentary representative.

Sunday, 23 September 2012

There's some people wot reckon as 'ow Jenno
is a boy's name, an' they ain't all tergevver wrong, 'cos girls are usually
called Jenna or Jenny. 'Corse moi name is really Jean, but not 'ardly anyone
ever calls me that, 'cept my teacher at school. Even moi mum don't call me Jean
'cept when she's angry wiv me. Usually she calls me Jeanie, but when she says
Jean, then Oi know Oi'm in trouble. Yew wanna know 'ow Oi got ter be called
Jenno? Well Oi told Peter about one day when we 'ad started ter make moi
soapbox racin' cart. Peter tells it loike this:

I decided to tackle Jenno at the milk break
about the girls making carts. It wasn't difficult, as she was actually looking
for me.

‘Hello,’
said Jenno. ‘Oi've got four of them mushroom bolts we need. They're about as
long as moi middle finger. Will they do?’

‘That's
fine. They're called coach bolts by the way.’

‘Why
coach bolts? Shouldn't they be called cart bolts?’

‘I
don't know why they're called coach bolts. They just are. Might as well ask why
you're called Jenno when your name is Jean.’

‘Ev'ryone
calls me Jenno.’

‘Is
that a reason?’

‘Naw,
cleverdick. It's 'cos Oi've got a cousin Jean, about moi age, wot used ter live
in the same 'ouse as me. They called 'er Jeanie, and me Jenno so's we'd know
who was who. So there. Why're yew called Peter, fer that matter? Oi don't see yew
a-peterin' out all the toime.’

Monday, 17 September 2012

Last week Oi told yew about the
first lesson Oi ever 'ad in soapbox cart racin'. Terday, Oi'm goin' ter tell
yew about moi very first cart race wot were between moi gang an’ that lot from
Lions Avenue.
It weren't moi most excitin’ race ‘cos there were ovvers later on wot were real
'eart-stoppers. Even so, it were pretty good. Peter were racing that day an'
all, but oi beat 'im fair an' square 'cos 'ee come in last! The fing is, it
were moi first real race ever, an' that makes it special fer me. We was racin' on
the Zigzag wot is the track down inter the Mountain Glide. There's a narrer bit
near the top wot makes fer some tricky manoeuvrin'.

﻿

The line-up at the start

Ev'rybody
wanted ter be first inter the narrer part, so we took off at the start in a
flurry of furious punting. But it was JJ, Roy an' Reenie, with their longer,
stronger legs, wot got there first. Peter was close behind 'em, wiv Itchyprick
an' Stinky alongside 'im. Winnie were just be'ind Peter, while Oi brought up
the rear. Well, Oi were the smallest weren't Oi? Besides, it were moi first
real race, so Oi were bein' sorta cautious loike.

Any'ow,
we come round the first bend in the same order. Peter troid to force Itchyprick
and Stinky ter the outside so as Winnie c'd come through on the inside, but
they was a bit too far ahead fer this ter work.

On the
next straight, wot is only moderately steep, it were only possible ter punt wiv
a leg now and again to maintain speed. Winnie 'ad an advantage 'ere, 'cos 'er
Blue Flash, wiv its big wheels, rolls easily over the rough places but Itchy an'
Stinky saw 'er idea an' swerved from soide to soide ter stop 'er overtakin'.

As the
second 'airpin came up Peter called: ‘On the inside Winnie.’ An' then 'ee
reached forward an' grabbed the rear of Itchy's cart. 'Ee pulled it against 'is
steerin' bar so as ter make 'em slide tergevver ter the outside of the turn.
Winnie broadsided through the gap.

Peter
let go of Itchy and punted hard to get ahead of 'im an' close the gap, but Oi
slipped through be'ind Winnie as well.

Itchy said
some words wot weren't at all perlite, an' then 'ee rammed Peter from behind
wot made 'im slam inter the rocky wall on the left of the track. 'Ee spun round
an' come ter a standstill. By the time 'ee got movin' again, ev'rybody else were
well ahead, includin' me, but 'ee punted on towards the third hairpin even so.

JJ,
Reenie an' Roy, still close tergevver at the front, rounded the bend in that
order. Stinky an' Winnie were a few yards behind 'em, an' Oi were on their 'eels.
Winnie troid to pass on the inside but Stinky moved ter block 'er. This left
room on the outside fer me ter overtake Winnie.

Winnie's
Blue Flash didn't 'ave no advantage on the flattenin' slope after the turn, so
wivvout any change in the runnin', ev'rybody punted on ter the finish.

Peter's
Lightning is a good cart, so 'ee gained a bit on Itchy through the final turn,
but couldn't catch 'im before the line.

We all
grouped, pantin', around the finish. The judges were busy wiv their
calculations.

‘Result
of the first race,’ announced Dismal finally. ‘JJ first with one point.’

All of
us from the Mob cheered. Peter's Lotters clapped politely.

‘Second
Reenie, with two points.’

This toime
the Lotters cheered.

‘The
others, in order of arrival are: Roy,
three points; Stinky, four points; Jenno, five points; Winnifred, six points;
Itchyprick, seven points.’

‘And
last, but not the least of the Lot,’ continued Dismal imperturbably, ‘Peter;
eight points.’

‘That
gives a total of nineteen points for the Lions Avenue Lot and seventeen points
for the Pepper Mill Mob. I therefore declare the Mob, winners of the first
race.’